


Hollow Freedom

by six_wicked_secrets



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams, Happy Ending, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kind of—if you squint, M/M, Major Character Injury, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 13:42:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14545959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/six_wicked_secrets/pseuds/six_wicked_secrets
Summary: He had sprawled his hands flat against the boy’s chest, seeing as the creatures auburn gaze burned with the treasonous flames of magic, watching as fear drew up in the boys chest, muscles curling wickedly with tension beneath the king's calloused fingers.Or, the one where Morgana isn't the only Seer, and Arthur thinks that he can help Merlin.





	Hollow Freedom

**H O L L O W   F R E E D O M**

  


The king loves an archaic mage with hair the husky tone of burnt wood and a smile filled with wild life—though, there was a time when he loathed such a creature.

  
  


His childhood was haunted by the hours of night where he would dream of a boy clothed in dark robes and a voice bellowing at the God's for his misery, lighting striking behind him when he was rejected his one wish—the breakneck light causing the thin fabric swathed over his flesh to become transparent under its intensity, and the king's younger self was tormented by the way the boy's skin became translucent and he could count each bone in the dark haired warlocks body.

  
  


He'd known more about the stranger than he had of himself—having watched him grieve and suffer and scream under the ache of all he hides, has seen as the man was swallowed by his lies, and has witnessed how his secrets turned his soul sour until he rotted from the inside out—yet, through those horrid nights when he was troubled by what he had seen unfold, he couldn't help that ignorant part of him that was drawn to the wicked creature that dare taunt him into restlessness.

  
  


Despite the fact that he had no clue of his features or even his name, the king was able to recognize him the stark day when the boy showed up at the practice fields with voice rich with a young ignorance, and shoulders that weren't yet bowed by the weight of all he struggles to withstand. The blonde leader had realised then, peering into such willowy depts that were cleansed with innocents: that those nightmares that had caused him to wake up sobbing, woven tightly in his blankets, where events that hadn't yet come to pass.

  
  


There was time.

  
  


He could change the fate of this young boy; he could keep him from turning to ruins under the nefariousness of the world—and really, this sollum king had thought that he had done just that, mind blinded with arrogance and the fear of what would become of this warlock if he didn't try and shield him from his own demons.

  
  


But now, he looks upon a broken man, peering through trees as all he had dreamt came to pass—accept this time, he was gifted the ability to change something.

  
  


He had sprawled his hands flat against the boy’s chest, seeing as the creatures auburn gaze burned with the treasonous flames of magic, watching as fear drew up in the boys chest, muscles curling wickedly with tension beneath the king's calloused fingers.

  
  


“Don’t worry, Merlin,“ The king, who was really just a man with a destiny too big for even him, had whispered, drawing close to the thin archaic mage, eyes sharing that same heart ache, “I know— _ everything _ —I’ve always known.”

  
  


The mage had tears in his eyes, gaze sharp and taunt with all the emotions that threaten to strangle him, and with another smolder of gold: time slowed around them, and the king could look up at the sky and watch as lightning spread through the thin air, its scintillating limbs reaching out desperately. He smiled brightly, feeling so free and so wonderful—feeling like he could finally rest knowing that the boy will be saved.

  
  


The world around them growled with thunder: a low, throaty rumble that broke through the surface, slowly, and scraped at the atmosphere terrifyingly; the king laughed, head thrown back and body so  _ light _ with disenthrallment, allowing his joy to blend with the bellowing earth—because soon he would be free of its malicious chains.

  
  


The warlock simply watched, realization cold in his eyes but fear a lost cause, tension slipping through his fingers as he buried his hands through the king's flaxen hair, the feel of it feathery soft between his trembling fingers. He pressed his tear soaked lips to the king's when their gaze's caught once more, mouth hungry and seeking for something that he may never get the privilege of having again, his words whispered down the king's throat, swelling sweetly in the blonde's hollow belly.

  
  


“I love you, Arthur.”

  
  


Arthur had stilled, his eyes slipping closed as relief clawed up his regal features, traction easing from his spine as he fitted his rain soaked body with the thin brute's lean frame, salvaging everything that was offered like a starved man—and in a way, he was. He pulled the collar of the mage’s shirt away from his pale neck, revealing a lavish of thin flesh that he sucked bruises into: marking the boy so that whoever was un-fortunate (or fortunate) enough to wonder across their ruins would know that this tragically wonderful being was  _ his _ —had died as the king's. With one finally swipe of his tongue over the abused skin, he whispered his words into the boy's flesh like a promise—feeling how his words clung onto the boys bones pleasantly and curled around his spine.

  
  


“I love you, too, Emrys.”

  
  


And when the lightning was close to reaching behind them—the spot that tormented king had seen struck in so many dreams—he knew it was now or never.

  
  


“I can’t offer you a crown or a kingdom or all the jewels of Camelot, but I can offer you a relief from this horrible weight that I now see withering your bones.” He’d whispered, fingers tracing the sharp curves and the thin lines of the boy's pretty features, inhaling everything that the sorcerer is through his finger tips.

  
  


“ _ Yes _ ,“ The horrid monster had breathed, desperation ghosting across the blonde’s flesh and leaving goosebumps in its wake, “Please, Arthur.”

  
  


“Anything for you, love.“ The blonde glanced at the lightning, and applied pressure to his hands that were once again fitted across the boy’s chest, “Shall we?”

  
  


“We shall.” The mage smiled, and it was like the purest magic filled the war child of the north’s chest, making him feel the most alive than he ever has, despite how close he was intertwined with death.

  
  


And he pushed, letting himself stumble forward with the boy as the lightning sparked directly above their heads. He smiled softly, never letting his gaze stray from those eyes that are too blue and too wise for someone so youthful, voice tender and chaste as his whispered words swirled around them like a tornado, engulfing them as lightning spread through their bodies like fire does gasoline, “Let us embrace death with open arms, welcome freedom and what is unknown to us—let us forever love one another, and allow ourselves to escape destinies ragged claws. Let us perish without regrets, and let those who grieve us to tell our tale as it was—never to be manipulated by time—and let them flourish. Are you with me?”

  
  


“Of course; I’m always by your side, prat, what makes you think that this’ll be any different?”

  
  


“Idiot.”

  
  


They passed with smiles gracing there already dead faces, cold eyes pouring into one another's gaze; they passed with lightning in their blood and thunder boiling like life in their ruined souls, tangled together like vines—two sides of the same coin—meeting in the afterlife with expressions glazed with emotions, but unexplainable joy in there tainted gazes.

  
  


“Welcome to Avalon, Pendragon. Welcome to Avalon, Emrys. Your new lives await you—free of the past.”

  
  


“Free.”

**Author's Note:**

> (All grammar mistakes are mine and I apologize—I wrote this at midnight in a hospital, so...enjoy!)


End file.
